


The Perils of Owning a Prosperous Business

by HSR (helena_s_renn)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Aragorn and Boromir own an auto shop, Fourth Age, Fusion, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-12
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/HSR
Summary: Since the defeat of Sauron and the break-up and diversification of his formerly monopolous "Sauron's Custom Imports", Aragorn and Boromir had been doing very well for themselves in their little pop-and-pop outfit on the third level of Minas Tirith.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II)
Kudos: 1





	The Perils of Owning a Prosperous Business

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Any of the LOTR men as grease monkeys...slash preferred!  
> Warnings: Some of the crackiest crack I've ever written. So beware. SSS (sex for sex's sake). This is a totally ridiculous blend of modern terminology and car modding with early Fourth Age Gondor.  
> Creeper = The wheeled board that mechanics lie on when they work under cars.

Since the defeat of Sauron and the break-up and diversification of his formerly monopolous "Sauron's Custom Imports", Aragorn and Boromir had been doing very well for themselves in their little pop-and-pop outfit on the third level of Minas Tirith. They'd hooked up in the war, finding affinity in weapons, sex, and cars; had bought out a long-lived part-Elvish gentleman retiring to the seaside; and now A/B Performance Center (TM) was up to their pierced nipples in work. It seemed that in these more peaceful times, everyone wanted to soup up the old hotrod or mod out the latest light-body from Far Harad. And Eru knew, they all wanted 22-inch rims.

So much so, they'd had to hire a third wheel. The interview process was quite delightful, and all and all they'd been very satisfied so far with a quick-fingered mechanic by the name of Éomer who had a propensity for going shirtless with his long mane loose in the breeze, but who could install the fastest set of headers or Edelbrock intake either of them had ever seen.

Boromir had been eying up the horselord ass and horselord bod in general, and Aragorn, being more compact and streamlined, as he liked to put it, wondered if he should be concerned. They'd been partners for four years, and he supposed that a wandering eye was to be expected. It was one thing that his own eye should drift – and it had from time to time, not that he’d ever done anything about it – but for Boro to take an interest beyond professional, that was worrisome. As an import himself, raised in the far North by Elven kin, he'd had to change his mind about bedding humans, and was happy he'd done so. And Men did have their weaknesses.

The week was busier than ever. Lift kits, custom carburetors, and repairs, repairs, repairs. All three of them worked ten-, eleven-, twelve-hour days, stopping only to use the jakes or mow down a trencher of stew. "We need another grease monkey!" Boromir complained to Aragorn late in the week as they climbed into bed. "Sure, the coin is good but all we ever do is work. I'm too tired to fuck you!" He looked incredulous over such a thing happening, casting baleful eyes downwards at his blanket-covered lap and the member on disability leave concealed there.

Loathe as he was to admit it, Aragorn, yawning, agreed with him on both points. "I've been thinking... Maybe we should bring in a body man. Someone who knows vinyls and underglow... and stereo systems, they have to go elsewhere for that. Then there are those who just want an oil change or transmission flush, but we don't have time for piddly stuff. So how about an oil-lube-and-filter man?" He looked over for a second opinion or mocking observation, but Boromir was dead asleep.

The next morning, a runner turned up just as they were opening the overhead doors. "Oh, no, not today!" Boromir groaned. Éomer had messaged in sick. They had more work than ever, and no way to get it done with only two men. Well, they'd just have to do what they could and worry about the rest later. Aragorn had switched out three sets of rims and tires, haggled a payment plan, and installed a super-charger on a 442 before lunch. He sat down for long enough to shove coffee and doughnuts in his face, vegging out on Boromir's long legs in faded jeans sticking out from underneath the side of a jacked-up Firebird. It was a nice car, but the kid who owned it wanted to put a V8 where a V6 was supposed to go, and that just wasn't going to fly. Boromir had told him as much, but here he was back again with another plan, wasting their time. All of a sudden, watching Boromir's chest flex and his shirt ride up as he reached into the engine block from below, and his legs spread slightly to find a better leverage on the floor against the creeper he was lying on, Aragorn was intensely horny. He'd stuck to the old style of clothes, leggings and a long tunic and lucky he was covered up just now or he would be a mighty embarrassed former Ranger. As it was, the seam of his leggings was pressed for space, and hiking up between his balls.

Shooing the kid out with promises he'd do some additional research in the old library vaults, Aragorn got busy pulling down and locking their two overhead doors and the small one at the side, where he turned the sign around to "Closed".

"What're you doing, taking a break?" came Boromir's voice from under the car. "We have hours and hours before closing time and we’re booked solid." Rolling out far enough so that Aragorn could see the lower part of his face, he raked his approaching boyfriend up and down with his glinting eyes. "You're walking funny."

"Oh no really? I wonder why; I have a boner the size of Orthanc! Ow.” Aragorn was now standing over Boromir’s supine form, just reveling in the two of them alone and awake in the same space. It had been too long since they’d fooled around at work. Putting the toe of his boot on the end of the wood between Boromir’s thighs, he hissed and rubbed his ache once or twice.

“I can see up your dress. You weren’t kidding. So whip it out – let’s see if we can’t make it as big as Barad-dûr, eh? What do you want – should I attach a blower to that for you?” Boromir licked his lips and flipped his tongue, and Aragorn’s half-strangled cock jerked and tried to get out.

Hoarsely, Aragorn ground out, “I wanna fuck you. I’m gonna ride you like a horse. So get those jeans down.”

“Move your foot then. Hope you have lube.” Boromir’s eyes darted to a vat of it by the wall. “Although...” He barked a laugh.

At that moment, Aragorn was too busy trying to balance while removing his restrictive lower garments to reply. Finally free, he lifted the hem of his tunic to reveal an angry purple-red erection, the foreskin drawn back and the head shiny.

“That looks fierce,” remarked Boromir with a trademark smirk. He fumbled with his fly with one hand, the other still somewhere up in the car’s innards. Aragorn noted the black grease stains, and each little crescent around Boromir’s fingernails. His were much the same.

“It is,” Aragorn’s replay was harsh and bitten. He straddled his partner’s hips and lowered himself. “Here, lift your butt.” With two hands and much more determination, he got Boromir’s jeans pulled down enough to free his essential parts for business.

“Don’t forget to oil the crankshaft...” Boromir began in a comical voice, but that was lost to a low groan and his eyes rolling back in his head the minute Aragorn touched him. He’d had a moment of doubt as to his performance, what with the last few nights’ dry spell. It appeared everything was back on track. Aragorn had something slick on his hands, and he was using both to pull and massage his man to a steel-hard state.

It was good – TOO good, and they both could see it would be over before it started if they didn’t slow down. “You wanted to ride me?” Boromir inquired from under heavy lids. “Gonna be a horselord for a day? Go on, then!”

“I’ll show you...” Aragorn cut off his almost-reference to their erstwhile help, and positioned himself. “As you’ll note...” he lowered his body enough so that just the tip of Boromir’s cock was touching his hole, “I ride very well.” A strangled cry escaped Boromir’s throat as another hot inch surrounded him. He struggled to thrust upwards but Aragorn held him down. “In fact, I’d venture to say,” the Ranger ground his hips in circles, down and down and down some more, till he was sitting directly on Boromir’s tense sac, “that I’m the better rider.”

Turning both bent legs outward, swiveling on the balls of his feet, Aragorn gave the man on his back a most obscene view of his dangly bits, or rather, his turbo-charged, primed parts. Boromir bucked and writhed, dropping the wrench he was still holding. It clattered on the floor and spun out of reach; what he did reach for was one Aragorn’s hips with one grubby hand and his cock with the other. He lifted and pulled and Aragorn strained to keep up with his own set rhythm, up and down so fast there was no room for acceleration. Since he couldn’t sit up without hitting his head, Boromir let it happen, let his lover do most of the grunt work, till he couldn’t hold back the rush a second longer. “Now... now!” he shouted.

“Yeah, yeah...” Aragorn echoed, who pushed his sweet spot against the shaft erupting warm fluids inside him. The torque was too much; his control broke like a a shot piston. Orgasming in groans and untranslatable babble, he threw back his head. Pearly strands landed on Boromir’s work shirt but oh well, it would look like he’d been careless with the saddle soap again. (What?? Boromir enjoys detailing leather interiors!)

“Holy hellhounds,” Aragorn wheezed when he could speak. He didn’t mind sitting still now, letting the cum slowly drip from him onto Boromir’s quiescent crotch. “Gotta do that more often...”

“Oh? Haven’t you heard ‘don’t shite where you eat’?” Aragorn didn't answer. Inching the creeper with both of them spread out on it away from the white quarter panel, Boromir finally managed to sit up, although he didn’t disengage. He peered up at the stormy blue-gray eyes of his partner. Thoughtfully, his tongue poked out again, tracing his upper lip, and then he gathered Aragorn into his arms and kissed him. It was strangely languid, tender, not like the frenzied pre-coital, panting, tonsil-hockey-type kissing they more typically shared. A couple minutes of that, and Aragorn noticed the shifter was back in gear. That was more like it.

“Silly Man,” Boromir said, some time later. “You’ve been acting strange. It’s Éomer, isn’t it? Well, we might have to lose him after the stunt he pulled today.”

No, that wouldn’t do, not unless it became a habit. “We can cut him some slack for one day,” Aragorn began.

“But I’ll take it out of his arse tomorrow,” Boromir finished. He looked up at the incensed expression on Aragorn’s face. “Sorry - Figure of speech, mate. You really are worked up about him...”

“He’s hot,” Aragorn said simply. With a huffy sigh, he confessed, “And I’ll admit to checking out his assets, too. We don’t want to do without him, though, really. He’s so fast, and good....” Boromir waggled his eyebrows, and they both laughed. “Alright, fine. I’m a ninny. I just want you all for myself.”

“Nothing wrong with that, luv. I suppose we could have fun baiting him.” There was some undignified giggling over that suggestion.

“That might be unwelcome,” Aragorn hiccoughed. “I think he’s straight.”

Boromir guffawed at that.

“What’s so funny?” demanded the Ranger.

“Look over there...” Boromir gestured over Aragorn’s left shoulder; the other man knew exactly what was over there.

“Oh no!”

“Oh, yes.”

“Morgoth’s hairy nutsack! How long has he been...?”

“Long enough. Be glad we didn’t give him a key.” Sure enough, there was a red-faced Éomer peeking through the glass of the locked door, shielding his eyes and practically salivating. So much for make-up time. He was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

Fin.


End file.
